


what's beloved

by watercolorwoods



Series: what's beloved universe [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, Hybrids, I'm Bad At Summaries, Mild Blood, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Character Death, no beta we die like wilbur after the war, the au will be explained over time!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watercolorwoods/pseuds/watercolorwoods
Summary: Techno thinks his soulmarks would be pretty if they were anything else.-Techno has never wanted soulmates, and even after he gets his soulmarks-three of them-he refuses to change his mind.The capitol is a promise of a future he can shape. He'd much rather focus on that.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Dave | Technoblade & Jschlatt, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), they r family your honor!!!
Series: what's beloved universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021720
Comments: 557
Kudos: 2875
Collections: Mixed_Fics





	1. becoming

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is gonna be a long one buckle in boys. mostly fluff but knowing me you won't be spared the angst entirely

Technoblade dreads the thought of soulmates.

He has his whole life. Something about growing up an orphan who'd been abandoned in a nowhere village doesn't instill a lot of adoration at the thought of soulmates. It really didn't help that his bottom canines had grown to poke between his lips, just a bit. His ears had always been pointy, but they started growing outward, more defined, almost like a _pig._

He never really learned how to socialize, but after that, he didn't attempt to. He spends his time in the village as a kid learning that he'll just have to take care of himself, because he's a freak. Because no one wants him. It's normal for him to wake himself up, teach himself from textbooks, and make his own dinner. He's always fed himself, even when he was too little to reach the stovetop. He just stood on a chair, and burned himself a few more times than he'd care to admit.

Techno didn't even know what soulmate marks were. Not until he started fighting.

A particularly bad night with mobs attacking their village makes him realize he has no way to protect himself. He's six then, and shouldn't need to think about keeping himself safe, but that's how it is. He's _different._

Fighting forces him to interact with the other kids in the village, but he genuinely enjoys it. He almost immediately picks it up, easier than he had cooking anyway. It frustrates the other kids, that he can beat them so easily, especially the older ones. He was lucky he was a natural, because the kids didn't have the same restraint with him that they did with their friends. They didn't care if they hurt him; a blow sending him reeling earned cheers, rather than concern.

He tries to convince himself that doesn't hurt, and tells himself one day he'll escape this place. Once he's strong enough.

So he fights as hard as he can. He practices on the mobs at night, fighting them until his wooden sword breaks and he has to fashion another.

They're on a break from sparring. He's sitting alone, as he always does, legs crossed on the bench and a book in his lap. He taught himself to read, too, and it's by far his second favorite way to spend his time.

The three others he'd been training with are standing together, eyes wide as they gaze at the arm of the eldest among them, one of the girls.

"Woah," the younger of the girls whispers as she touched her friend's shoulder.

Techno has gotten skilled at using his peripherals, because his curiosity about other people would always land him into trouble when he got caught looking. It's out of the corner of his eye that he sees it: a deep red circle, imprinted on her shoulder.

"Your soulmark!" The boy coos, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Do you know what it means?"

"Why your shoulder? My mom's is on her knee."

"Red means romantic," the girl states matter-of-factly, hands on her hips. "And shoulders mean stability."

The younger girl blinks. "I thought it was based on the most important part of your body?"

"Duh. But the parts have meaning, too!"

He zones out then, thumbing the page of his book absently. He'd heard about soulmates, but not the marks. Why did they get marks? Apparently red was for romantic, so what did the other colors mean? What did all the body parts mean?

When would he get his?

He shakes his head to drag himself from that hole. As if he'd have soulmates. The people in the village could barely stand to look at him; how in the world would he have a soulmate?

And if he did, it's not like they would want him either. Nothing would ever change, and he'd end up with only himself in the end. That's how it always was. 

And so, he learns to dread them. All they'll be is a constant reminder that he's not enough. He will never, ever depend on his soulmate. As a matter of fact, he'll do everything in his power to make sure he doesn't meet them in the first place.

By the time he turned eleven, he was so sure he'd be safe. The kids around his age had already gotten theirs, and his body remained unmarked, much to his relief. It also became a point of laughter among the other kids, but it didn't bother him. He thought they were stupid for trusting in something so trivial anyway.

He sees them first on his hand. It's the early morning, and he only briefly catches them as he reaches over to turn on his lamp. His heart drops as the light spills over his skin, and highlights the marks. 

Three pink lines circle almost all the way around his right wrist, each parallel to each other. They break off in a curve and travel up the back of his hand, twirling around his index finger. Techno thinks his they would be pretty if they were anything else.

It's only when he lifts his sleeve that he realizes they don't just stop at his wrist.

Curiosity gets the best of him, and he scrambles out of bed, heart beating hard in his chest. He unbuttons his shirt shakily, eyes squeezed shut as he does. Hastily, he tosses it off, and opens his eyes.

The thin lines span all the way up his arm, stretching to his shoulder. He can't see them after that, so he runs to the bathroom, and stands in front of the mirror. He can't even feel his own touch on his tingly skin as his fingers splay over his wrist and trace the lines up, up, up.

He sees them branch off at his shoulder, toward his back. Slowly, he turns in the mirror, so his back faces it, and looks over his shoulder.

His eyes widen gradually until they're as big as plates, and his jaw drops. He feels his breathing quicken, watches as his back moves along with the fast pace of his breath.

The lines cover nearly every inch of his back, patterned in huge swirls and curves. Techno wishes he would disappear, wishes _they_ would disappear.

Because what does it mean when your soulmate mark covers half of your body? No one in the village has soulmate marks like this. All he can think is _why couldn't I just be normal?_

He'd been so dead set on keeping his soulmate out of his life, and not only are they seemingly such a huge portion of his life, but there's _three of them._ He doesn't know what pink means, but he at least feels gratitude that there's not an inch of red on his body.

That day, he leaves the village with nothing but a stone sword, a stone pickaxe, some books, and a bag full of potatoes fresh from his farm. His goal is the capitol. He can make something of himself there, much better than he could here. 

He entertains himself with delusions of grandeur, and he's sure of it: he'll be someone once he make it to the capitol. He won't just be the violent boy who's different. He'll beat everyone, and they'll see. He's more than his tusks and pointy ears.

Everyone watches him go, but no one stops him.

This was always inevitable.

He spends a lot of time alone now. At least he's got plenty to keep himself busy with, between killing animals for food and caving for iron. But this busy feeling doesn't last long, because as it is, iron isn't that hard to find. Before he knows it, his sword and pick have been upgraded, and he's plated in iron. He's got more food than he can hold, and he knows he has to stop procrastinating actually traveling.

So he opens one of the books, and pulls out his folded map. It's a fairly straight shot to the capitol, but he has to climb a mountain and traverse more than one forest on the way. 

It turns out he's extremely mediocre at navigation. He wouldn't say he's _bad,_ because he isn't _bad_ at _anything._ He just thinks he could be better at it. He makes himself a compass, and once be locates himself on the map, he's pretty well set from there. He just has to head due east in a straight line. How hard can it be?

It's harder than he thought.

He's gotten lost more than once, and the mobs are a lot to handle when he's on his own. Not to mention, he keeps getting distracted when he sees a cave, filled with the urge to explore every inch of it. This urge at least gets him diamonds; thirteen of them, to be exact. 

The diamond chestplate and sword that he makes are added assurances, and at this point, he's not afraid. He's confident enough in his skills that mobs don't scare him at all, and he doesn't think he's going to bump into anyone human anyway. The only obstacle now is himself, with his shitty attention span and directional skills.

By the time he makes it to the mountain he's meant to cross- which is about the halfway point, according to his map- it's been three days. Night is approaching, and he'd rather not climb a mountain with the threat of a creeper exploding him off the side. He holes up in a dead end cave at the foot of it, filling it with torches to drive off monsters and blocking off the entrance with cobble.

It's chilly in the dinky cave, but he gets the best sleep he's had the entire journey that night. Not that "best sleep" means "good sleep." He wakes up three or four times, shivering and positive he's hearing things. All in all, he gets about five or so hours, he thinks.

Techno starts fresh in the morning, and the climb is difficult, but uneventful. Sliding down the other side is the hardest part, in his opinion.

It only takes him two days to reach the capitol after climbing the mountain.

It's the biggest place he's ever seen, and it's also the loudest. He very quickly finds himself overwhelmed, but at the same time, he's _excited._ In the distance, he sees the looming castle, where Philza lives. 

The first person he sees that's like him runs a stall in the main street, and he immediately ventures over to the boy, who looks to be his age.

"Oh, hey," the boy grins, and leans forward. He has the eyes of a goat, and the twisty horns of one, too. "You're like me!" 

For the first time in a long time, Techno feels the corners of his lips tilt upwards, and the tiniest bit of hope finds its way in his chest. There are people like him out there. People who aren't _normal_.

"Do you uh. Talk?" 

Techno blinks. _Oh, right._ "Yeah," he croaks, and clears his throat. It's been awhile since he's spoken to someone else. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, but the boy in front of him seems undeterred.

"Nice! Well, I dunno where you come from, but you'll probably see more hybrids," he says. "You don't seem like you come from the capitol, so I just thought I'd let you know."

Techno wonders what gave it away, as he picks at the hem of his dirty button up shirt. Everyone around here is so clean, unless they're wearing armor like he is. It definitely makes him feel a little better, that he at least fits in with the travelers.

"My name's Techno," he murmurs.

"Schlatt," he answers back, and holds out a hand. Techno offers his own, and Schlatt grabs it. "Oh! Your soulmark is really pretty," he says as he turns Techno's hand over to admire it.

"Thanks," Techno mumbles half heartedly, and pulls his hand free. Schlatt doesn't seem offended by the gesture. He wonders if every interaction he has will involve his soulmark, and a thought hits him.

His eyes wander Schlatt's stall, until they land on gloves.

"You want those?" Schlatt asks, and reaches over to grab them. "You can have 'em, I don't care. Just 'cause you're cool."

Again, Techno blinks, and takes them. As if he'd say no to something free. "You're not much of a businessman, are you." He deadpans, and Schlatt glares at him.

"I'm doing this just for you!"

"Because I'm… _cool_."

"Because you're cool. Now scram, I've got customers," he says with a wave of his hand. "I'll see you around, Techno!"

Techno does, in fact, scram. It's then that he realizes he has no clue what to do. He's read about tournaments hosted here in the capitol, so he supposes he'll just have to wait for one to start. 

He wanders the market street, and reads any flyer he sees. There are a lot of sales, is all he really gathers. He doesn't see any for upcoming tournaments, which is extremely unfortunate for him. What the hell does he do now? He's got nowhere to stay, and he can't hole up this close to the city. The only one he knows is Schlatt, but he can't just _ask to live with him._

A cough echoes from somewhere at his feet, and he glanced over to the side of the street. A girl sits there, hugging her knees with a cardboard box of belongings. His heart sinks.

Guess he's found his new home.

Living on the streets is not as hard as he thought it would be. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he's been living on his own his whole life, but it doesn't feel as daunting as it should. He thinks it's bad that he's an eleven year old kid and he's unconcerned about life on the streets.

But he has a good tactic. He scouts out an alleyway that no one lives in, and he claims it as his own. Any time someone shows up, he scares them off. It works pretty well, considering he's tall for his age.

His diamond sword may have something to do with it, too. 

He marks the days on the walls of the alley, just to make sure he's keeping track. He rereads his books three times each before he realizes he should spend his time doing something more productive. 

Mostly, he goes and checks the huge board at the end of the main street. Notices are posted up there, and he scans it every day, looking for a new announcement of a tournament. And every day is the same: he finds no announcement, and gets restless, and starts sinking into the feeling.

He still goes to the outskirts of town every night, about half an hour out, and fights any mobs he can. It keeps him fresh, even if it's different than sparring.

It takes him three weeks to go see Schlatt again. Usually, he doesn't wander in that direction of the street, but he starts doing it just to see the boy. Techno has seen quite a few hybrids while living in the streets, but none of them are Schlatt. He has this charisma that lets him live in people's head, and it pisses Techno off that he's fallen victim to it.

"Hey, Techno! Your sword's all bloody!" Schlatt calls with a wave. No one is gathered in front of his shop at the moment; Techno figures it's because it's so early in the day.

Techno blinks at him as he comes to stand at the counter, and turns his gaze to his sword. _Oh._ He must've forgotten to clean it last night. He glances back up at Schlatt and shrugs.

"Mysterious," Schlatt says with a click of his tongue. "You're not a murderer are you?"

He says it so loudly that the eyes on the few people on the street _immediately_ flit over to the two of them. He looks over his shoulder and sees at least three of them back away and hunker a bit.

"No," he finally answers, and frowns.

And so, Schlatt becomes the first person Techno would call a friend.

"What do friends even do?" He asks one day, sitting down in a chair behind the counter and propping his boots up on a crate. 

Schlatt snorts, and covers his mouth. "The hell? I don't know! Talk about… dreams and stuff."

Slowly, Techno blinks. "Oh," he implores, tapping his fingers on the handle of his sword. "Okay. What are your dreams?"

Momentarily, Schlatt splutters, gesturing wildly as his eyes widen. "I- you- what- you can't just _ask that!"_

All Techno gives him is a look that hopefully screams _why not?_

Schlatt sighs. "You're hopeless," he groans. "But fine, I'll bite. I'm gonna be the greatest businessman in this damn city!"

Blankly, Techno thinks back to Schlatt giving him free gloves, when they'd only just met. He purses his lips. "Um. Okay then."

"You-" Schlatt practically growls, and nearly bursts a blood vessel as he clenches and unclenches his fists. " _Asshole._ What about you, then."

"Easy," he says plainly. "I'm gonna defeat everyone and be the best."

" _And you thought mine was unrealistic!"_

On his fourth month and fifteenth day in the city, he's absently checking the bulletin board. He almost misses it, because he really hadn't been expecting it at all. He has to go back and re-read it, blinking owlishly at the words.

Another tournament. At the end of the month.

His eyes light up, so bright they could rival the stars, and a grin creeps its way up his face. He jumps into the air and lets out a loud cheer, startling everyone around him. Without a second thought, he starts dashing down the street, laughing the whole way.

He skids to a stop right in front of Schlatt's stall, waving his hands wildly, and the boy whips around from where he's setting things out. He stares at Techno like he's grown another head.

"Spit it out, then!"

"There's a tournament!" He squeaks excitedly, and gets the joy of watching Schlatt's face slowly rise into an expression of equal excitement.

"Technoooo! Finally!" He cheers, and they high-five. "Don't forget about me when you make it big, alright?"

Techno smiles so hard his cheeks ache. "Never!"

He spends the rest of the month at a spawner he found deep in a cave, practicing his stances and posture. He starts picking fights in the city, solely for the experience. It's not like he _actually_ cares that much about the alley he lives in.

These fights get the king's men after him, so he stops out of fear that he'll be barred from competing. 

The end of the month comes at a snail's pace, and he barely talks to Schlatt the entire time. He feels bad, leaving his… friend… in the dark, but he figures Schlatt will understand once the time comes. He'd needed to focus wholeheartedly on training. 

Tournament time brings about an anxiety he's never felt before, a kind where he starts doubting his skills. It scares him, and shakes him more than anything in the world, because his skills were the one thing he was always confident in.

But it's so hard to stay confident when you're surrounded by people much bigger than you are, and he's at least grateful they get dished equal armor before the tourney.

Registration goes without a hitch; it seems the guards don't actually care if a child signs up, like he'd previously worried. They also don't seem to remember him from his street fights, which he will gladly accept. He's given a necklace with a small, glowing star on it, and he's told it'll teleport him. He really doesn't get it.

All of them are led into a room right off the arena, which is in itself set up like the outside world, with its own biomes and geographic features. Most of the others are socializing in small groups; they seem to all be aware of each other, and at the very least respect each other. He feels awkward, but he just stands at the gate, examining the terrain. A forest, a desert on the other side, a river straight through the middle, and a small bit of plains are what he can visibly make out. The arena is a lot bigger than he thought it'd be.

Within the room, all of them snag a bed to set their respawn points. All but one of them will die today. On top of that, they all suit up in their matching gear.

It takes about thirty minutes for him to understand the star hanging from his neck. A voice rings out and counts down a teleportation, and suddenly, his body is gone from underneath him, and his head goes blank.

He blinks into existence in a forest, kitted in iron armor with a diamond sword, iron tools, and a stack of food. He grins.

The show begins.

He doesn't win this one. In fact, he dies for the first time in his life. He picks a fight with a woman much too powerful for him, and the last thing he sees is brown eyes, cold and hungry. It hits him then, that he's face to face with death, and that it's going to hurt. He's going to die. She mercilessly cuts his throat, and he feels the hot friction of the blade as it slices him open. His vision goes black.

He's not sure what he'd expected respawning to be like, but it wasn't this. He can't speak, he can't scream. On all sides, he's surrounded by darkness, so full that he's not even sure his eyes are open, and he's freezing. He's so cold he can almost feel ice crackling over his skin. The only lingering heat is that against his throat from the woman's cut, and it burns overwhelmingly, but doesn't satisfy the ache of the cold. 

He can't breathe. His lungs feel like they're collapsing as he gasps for air. Blood soaks his shirt underneath his armor, warm and sticky. He smells it, and he's choking on it, and it's _everywhere._ Even despite his inability to breathe, he still falls to his knees and starts vomiting blood. He knows there must be ground, because he feels himself on it, but it's all dark and empty. 

And suddenly, he feels like his throat's been slit again, and he tries to scream, his hands pressed against his neck. There's nothing there, but he's in so much fucking pain, and he feels the intense burning over and over again, as if it just keeps happening. Only, it's dreadfully slow and so much more painful than when it'd really happened, and he feels every nerve splitting and breaking. Tears prick his eyes and flow steadily down his cheeks. He wants it to end, he wants it to stop.

It feels like forever before everything stops. The pain ends so abruptly that it leaves him gasping, and he opens his eyes to the ceiling of the lobby room he'd started off in. His hands fly to his throat, feeling it desperately as his chest continues to heave. He feels like he should be drenched in sweat, but there's nothing. He's perfectly fine, barring the ugly raised scar that he runs his fingers over as he catches his breath.

Technoblade vows then and there that he will never, ever die again.

He decides he'd been unprepared, and immediately upon getting back to the main street, he scours the huge board in front of him.

This time, he reads the flyers carefully and fully, trying not the lose his focus. His eyes land on one in specific, a yellow paper with text written in black. Fencing classes, free. Someone must be desperate to teach. 

He pulls a pen from his pocket- Schlatt gave it to him, yet another free thing that he should've paid for- and circles the directions written on the paper. He yanks it from the board, and grins.

Immediately, he starts following them, and finds himself facing a small building on an oddball street close to the outskirts of the city. He welcomes himself in.

"Oh!" A voice calls from a back room, and a man with a green mask decorated with a bracketed smile appears around a corner. "Uh, hi! I'm Fruit!"

He trains and trains for seven more months, and misses three consecutive tournaments. He does not miss the fourth.

This time, he has a different air about him. He's confident, but it's founded. His opponents' statures no longer intimidate him. He has technique now. It'd started with fencing, and then Fruit had begun teaching him sword fighting.

He doesn't look scary, but he knows everyone else should be scared.

And so it ends with Techno panting, smearing the blood that's spattered on his cheek as a smile widens on his face. The blood drips steadily from his blade, on the corpse of his final opponent: the winner of the previous tournament.

His helmet is removed and a crown settled upon his head, a cape draped over his shoulders. 

_He is the victor._ His soulmarks itch, almost violently, as if protesting this path.

He can't bring himself to care. He quite enjoys the color red, like blood, like the cape on his shoulders, like Schlatt's tie. Winning has never felt so fucking _good._ This is _nothing_ like beating the other kids at sparring with wooden swords; this is real, this is big. He's being seen, appreciated, acknowledged, respected.

He's being _feared_.

"Schlatt!" He calls, monotone as he does so. He waves awkwardly, his cape heavy on his back and his crown slipping a bit. It's been months since they've last seen each other, and Techno is eaten alive with guilt, though it doesn't overpower his joy.

Immediately, Schlatt's eyes light up. "I heard!" He says as Techno comes to a stop before him. Schlatt answers him like nothing has changed, like _Techno_ hasn't changed. "You've made it big. I've heard that stupid name of yours on the streets all day."

Techno rolls his eyes. "Gee, thanks. I named myself, you know."

Schlatt frowns at that, but Techno doesn't know why, and Schlatt doesn't tell him. Instead, he quickly smiles. "They're having another in a month, if you didn't know."

His eyes widen, and he feels a hunger deep in his bones.

He wins the next month, this time with his too-big cape billowing around him and his crown stained red. His heart pounds and he grins wider than he has his entire life. Everyone knows his name. He's made it to the top of the mountain.

He never, ever wants to stop winning.

And he _doesn't_ stop winning. He wins the next tournament- this time just days before his thirteenth birthday, which is a couple months after the previous tournament.

This time, he laughs. He laughs and laughs, and feels his hands tingle with adrenaline, his entire body warm all over. God, it feels so good. He feels so alive.

And he almost misses the man in front of him, adorning a cape not unlike the one Techno wears but in green, and a matching striped bucket hat. The man is quite a few inches taller than Techno. He blinks absently, and immediately starts feeling awkward, shifting his weight back and forth.

The man grins at him. "I've heard a lot about you," he says vaguely, and Techno can't pinpoint his accent, aside from recognizing he has one.

Techno doesn't even get to think up a response before the man leans forward, and holds out a hand. "I'm King Philza, but you can call me Phil," he says kindly, his eyes soft. Something about Phil makes him feel safe, safer than he's felt his entire life. 

Techno's eyes widen, processing the words slowly. He blinks owlishly a few times before realizing he should probably shake the man's hand.

Hesitantly, he offers his right hand, and Phil's grip is firm, undeterred by the blood that stains Techno's gloves. The adrenaline in his body is starting to ebb away, the scrapes, cuts, and bruises all over his body making themselves known. He hurts everywhere, just like he always does.

"How long have you been alone, Techno?"

He pulls his hand away, like he's been scalded, and puts a bit of distance between them. "Depends on what you mean," he answers, and surprises himself with his honesty.

Phil frowns at him. "Right. You sure seem to win these things an awful lot, huh?"

Techno scowls a little, and pulls a cloth from his back pocket, swiping it over the blade of his sword. "Mhm."

"And what would you say," Phil starts with a grin, one that promises things Techno can't even begin to comprehend, and threads his fingers together. "If I offered you a place in the castle?"

The cloth falls from his hand, and drops unceremoniously to the ground. _The castle._ He parts his lips to answer, clicks his tongue once, and can't think of a single thing to say. The castle? That's about as high up as it gets, right?

Does this mean he's done it? He's made something of himself, just like he's always wanted to?

He thinks of sleeping in a wet cardboard box and getting chased down by the royal guard. He thinks of sore limbs and infected cuts and street fights. Thankfully, his days of going hungry have since passed him, the sum of money he gets for winning tournaments taking care of his food issue. Still, he spent months famished and vaguely dehydrated, and even longer he's spent ridiculed.

This is not an offer Techno can afford to turn down. He nods solemnly, setting his jaw. He watches as Phil's eyes crinkle, and he gestures for Techno to follow. With nothing else to do, he does so, his entire body protesting as he goes.

He wants to collapse in a pile on the floor and sleep for a few days straight. That's what he would be doing, if it weren't for Phil.

"We'll get you cleaned up once we get there," the king says, and Techno hums absently. "You look good in a crown," Phil tells him with a smile, glancing over his shoulder. "Like it was meant to be there."

Techno is becoming increasingly positive that no one on Earth can be as nice as this man without faking it. Something inside him wiggles and itches, and his hands twitch, drifting toward his sword. His back- _his winged back, how had Techno not noticed that?-_ is open, and he has no guards with him. A thought, brief and fleeting, flashes in his mind.

What if he rises even further? What if he becomes king?

And suddenly, Phil stops, standing entirely still. Techno scrambles to stop before he runs straight into him, and gazes up at him angrily.

When Phil glares at him over his shoulder, his eyes are cold and menacing. His wings flex ever so slightly, and a shiver runs its course through his body. _Idiot_. There's clearly a reason he doesn't have guards.

Something within him tells him he couldn't kill Phil. Not as he is now. 

(Something within him tells him he doesn't really even want to in the first place.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nethertwt)


	2. maybe it's today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support <3
> 
> the pace of the story is gonna start slowing down now that we've met Phil!

The walk to the castle is uneventful and awkward, almost painfully so. They take the main street, and Techno despises the way everyone looks at them; him because he's blood soaked, Phil because he's the king. The attention is completely unwanted on Techno's part.

The king, however, takes it in stride. It's sort of admirable, how the looks don't even touch Phil at all. He just stands tall, smiles when he makes eye contact, and waves when necessary. The crowd parts for him, and Techno can tell it isn't out of fear, but _respect._

That doesn't mean Techno has any faith in him. In fact, he doesn't trust Phil as far as he could throw him. Being the king doesn't make him good. In fact, Techno would probably say that's a whole _separate_ reason to be distrustful of him.

He has to wonder what Phil's intentions are, taking in an orphan who's killed a few too many people and won a few too many tournaments. 

Main street is especially busy today, and the crowd along the edges seems to be growing larger by the minute. Techno assumes Phil doesn't make appearances very often, if their starstruck and confused reactions are anything to go by.

It makes him even more suspicious. If this man were anyone but the king, Techno would've killed him the first chance he'd gotten. He wonders briefly if he's made a mistake.

Then he catches sight of Schlatt, and he knows the boy sees him too, because he jumps over his stand entirely and waves wildly. "Techno!" He calls loudly, probably attracting half the crowd.

Techno halts, glancing over at Schlatt and then back to Phil, who's stopped as well. He almost smiles, but catches himself as soon as the corners of his lips start rising. He thinks of his unknown soulmates, and all the time he's spent alone.

_You're not doing this for anyone but yourself. Isn't that selfish? Aren't you selfish? Are you really anything more than a killer?_

He blinks. No, that's not true. He's always been a good friend to Schlatt, these many months he's known him. 

_How would you know?_

He squirms a little, that worm of doubt niggling and burrowing its way into his gut. His stomach aches, and he feels vaguely sick. He's pondered it before, but he's never been quite so hung up on it. _Would it be better if we weren't friends?_

It's probably got something to do with his post-tournament blues, as he's deemed them. Once he's out of the moment, he finds himself critical of every tiny step he takes, until he exhausts himself to the point of collapse. He just needs to sleep. That's all.

"Who's that?" Phil asks, not unkindly.

"Schlatt," he says after deliberating for a moment. He thinks of his sword, deep in someone's chest, and pulls at his once white shirt to stare at the blood that stains it. Most of it isn't his. 

He'd laughed, at the end there, hadn't he? He'd killed someone and he'd _laughed_. The despairing, pained look on their face as the light left their eyes had relieved him, because it meant victory. One of his first thoughts when he'd met Phil was a fleeting one of trying to hurt him. He's never killed out of necessity, only out of desire. Techno knows he's changed, knows he's grown to crave blood. Would Schlatt be disgusted by that?

Does Techno even want to find out?

"Go talk to him, then," Phil says with a chuckle.

He shuffles on autopilot over to Schlatt, his eyes trained on the ground. Is it obvious that he's different now? Doubts and fears of all different kinds gnaw away at his mind, and it's driving him mad. His hands get all itchy again.

"You're all bloody again. Seriously, are you a murderer?" Schlatt's tone is light and bubbly. It's obvious he's joking. They both know he's been in a tournament, but only one of them knows the way he'd felt during it.

"No," he murmurs. _Yes,_ he thinks.

When Schlatt touches his shoulder, he flinches. _Something is wrong,_ he tells himself _._ Schlatt doesn't seem to notice, or even react at all. "What are you doing with the king? You're not in trouble, right?"

He shakes his head gently. "He just noticed me, s'all."

"Well," Schlatt starts, and Techno chances a glance up at him. The boy's eyes are shining with pride. "Of course he did. Aren't you the best?"

"Yup," he answers immediately. _It's all he's ever wanted to be._

Phil calls out to him, a slightly politer way of telling him to hurry up, and he jumps a little. He feels so finnicky right now, so restless, and yet all he wants to do is sleep for a year. 

"Go on. We'll talk later," Schlatt tells him, promises him. Techno hums a little, but says nothing as he turns around. 

He doesn't make promises he doesn't know he can keep. 

Seeing the castle up close is a whole other experience, compared to seeing it just in the distance. The gates loom over them, and within them, the door is just as tall. There are guards everywhere, a couple of which he vaguely recognizes, and he promptly ducks his head. He's not looking to get in a fight with some asshole guard right in front of the king.

He stares blankly at Phil's heels as the ground beneath them shifts from stone path to shiny floor. His boots tap methodically against it, echoing through the room. He only lifts his head to look around, and he takes in the huge arches and stairways with barely veiled awe. It's quiet inside, aside from hurried footfalls as people scurry back and forth. Every little sound feels so big and daunting, what with the pronounced reverberation within the room.

They continue forwards until the floor changes again, this time to a rich green carpet. It looks so expensive that it feels wrong just stepping on it. The carpet leads straight to a huge throne, which he assumes must belong to Phil. However, they skip that, and veer to one of the large spiral staircases along the sides of the room, and it's halfway up that it hits him just how exhausted and pained he is. 

Every tiny cut on his body itches and burns, and his ribs are aching insufferably. He thinks a couple of them are broken. At this point, he doesn't even want a shower. He just wants to lie down and deal with everything later.

The gap between him and Phil continues to grow as he fights for each step, his eyelids starting to droop. He slaps his cheek a little, trying to coerce himself to stay awake. It would really not turn out well for him if he dropped down this staircase.

The slap is a bit harder than he'd intended, loud in the silent room, and Phil jerks around a split second later. He seems to take in the distance between them, and his brow furrows.

"Shit," he murmurs, rushing back down the stairs to hold onto Techno's arm. "The medical wing is on the other side of the castle. We'll get you upstairs to a room and I'll bring them to you."

He yanks his arm free with what feels like his last bit of strength, and nearly growls. "I don't need your help," he deadpans, eye twitching. And he means it. He doesn't need to be babied and waited on. His body protests his idiocy and stubbornness as he practically claws his way up another step, and another, painfully slow.

"Techno," Phil ventures hesitantly from behind him, but he sounds like he's at a loss, and falls silent.

Techno makes his way up a couple more steps when a rustling echoes behind him, and he straightens. He doesn't even get the chance to turn around when hands find their way under his armpits, and suddenly, he's off the ground.

He lets out a high-pitched scream that he's less than proud of, and curls his legs close to him. Phil snorts above him, and he lifts his head, feeling his hair brush against Phil's chest. He just squeezes his eyes shut, and waits for it to be over. Had Phil really just plucked him off the ground like that? What the hell?

They stop in front of another door about fifteen seconds later, one that Techno only sees after he dares to chance a peek. It stands in between the two staircases. Expectantly, he uncurls his legs, and Phil slowly lowers him to the ground. His feet immediately start aching again, and he almost misses being carried.

"This floor is just a bunch of rooms," Phil explains as he pulls the door open.

Immediately, the gentle sound of a guitar fills his ears, coming from the corridor that branches to the left. He blinks, and thinks about his old violin. The old instrument had been left in the abandoned house he'd overtaken back in the village, but he hadn't brought it with him on his journey.

Phil steers him down the corridor with the music, and his fingers stay hovering close to Techno's arm, ready to catch him should he topple over. They pass the room with the guitar, and Phil pulls him to a stop three doors down from it.

"Here should be good," Phil hums, and once again opens the door for him. It makes Techno twitch a little, but that's all the annoyance he can bring himself to muster.

The room is cozy, especially for how big it is. It's definitely as big as his old living room and bedroom combined, and even then there'd probably be space to spare. The bed has very long posts, but other than that, it's a standard bed, he supposes.

He's never been in a bedroom with its own couch, table, and chairs, though. It feels extremely redundant. Do those even get used? On top of that, there's a desk and a dresser, with a walk-in closet in the corner. The far left wall has two large windows, and the only light in the room shines from there. There's a glass sliding door between the windows that leads to a balcony.

Techno can't even bring himself to care about all the light as he tosses his bag down. He helps himself to the bed, collapsing into it with a sigh. He sinks into it as he fights to toe off his boots. The blankets are soft. He doesn't have the energy to get under them, but it's a welcome change to sleeping on the street. His boots tumble to the ground, and he breathes, wiggling his socked feet.

Vaguely, he hears Phil saying something to him, but the edges of his mind are already falling numb with the lull of sleep. His eyes close, and he feels fuzzy as the darkness finally claims him.

When he wakes up, it's to the sun in his face. He groans aloud, turning over to his stomach to bury his face in the pillow under his head. He hisses in pain as his ribs throb with the pressure, and he rolls back over to sit up and cradle them.

The pain gradually subsides to a dull ache, and he sighs. If this soft bed is enough to hurt, he doesn't want to think about what the alley would feel like. He realizes slowly that his shirt isn't bloody anymore, and he gazes down at it in wonder. Someone must've changed him.

...well, they changed his shirt, he notices as he tosses the covers off his body. His pants are still covered in dirt in blood, but there's an almost identical pair on the nightstand next to him. Stumbling out of bed, he slips out of his old pair and into the new. They're a bit big, especially length wise, but his tucked in shirt helps them stay up.

He can tell he has bandages wrapped around his ribcage by the slight pressure he feels on them; not enough to hurt, but enough to be noticeable. He can also feel bandages along his arms, the ones on his left extending past his shirt sleeve to wrap around the lower half of his hand. So he got changed, and someone fixed him up. 

His hair is still dirty. He can feel the grease in it, and strands of it clump together with blood where it had been pulled out from the braid it was in during the fighting. Really, he needs a shower.

He wonders where his gloves are. The closet is open, and he sees his cape hanging there, while his crown sits on the dresser. Both of them are clean.

Frowning, he trudges over to fasten his cape around him. He feels guilty that someone's been taking care of him, but mostly, he's angry about it. He can do this stuff himself. Probably not as well as whoever actually did it, but he can _do it_.

His shoes are forgone as he opens his door gently, padding quietly out of the room in bare feet. There's no music, and he wonders what time it is, nearly punching himself for not at least checking the position of the sun. He hadn't seen a clock anywhere, but to be fair, he wasn't necessarily looking for one.

There are no signs of life _anywhere._ What the hell is he supposed to do? He doesn't know where a shower is, or where Phil is. He barely even remembers his way to the throne room, and that was pretty straightforward.

Should he head there? No, probably not. He really doesn't want to run into anyone else but Phil. He looks around wildly, and finds himself shaky at the sight of so many identical doors and the high ceilings. 

He darts back into his room, and nearly slams the door behind him. Cringing, he cowers against it, hugging himself tightly. That definitely attracted attention. Someone absolutely heard that. God, he's an idiot. He flees further into his room, brushing past the curtains and pulling open the sliding door to stand on the balcony.

It has a nice overview of the castle's vast garden, but there's no way down. People are milling about the garden, both observing it and taking care of it. He whips around, positioning himself so his back rests against the railing and he faces the door. If anyone shows up, he'll… he doesn't know what he'll do, because he absolutely can't jump from this height.

"Techno?" He hears a voice call from within his room, but it's too muffled for him to make out the owner. _Please be Phil,_ he pleads.

And sure enough, the glass door opens and reveals the same blonde, winged man from yesterday. He sighs in relief, even if his shoulders don't fully relax.

"Why are you out here?" He asks, confused.

What is Techno supposed to say to that? _I got scared, so I ran away?_ He scowls. Over his dead body.

"Where are my gloves?" He asks instead, scrunching his nose. 

Phil blinks. "I wondered if you might want some new-"

"No," Techno says immediately. "I want those. Where are they?"

Hands in the air, Phil steps out of the doorway and points to the other side of the room. Carefully, Techno creeps into his room, and his eyes follow Phil's direction to a door he hadn't even noticed.

"That's your bathroom," Phil explains, and he immediately makes a beeline for it. Sure enough, his gloves are clean, sitting on the edge of the sink. He pulls them on, feeling a lot safer with his hands covered. With his _soulmark_ covered.

"Have you showered yet?" He asks.

Techno blinks, and looks up at the shower. It's very clean, and looks like it hasn't been touched since it was put in. There's a huge bath on the other side of the bathroom. He groans. Why does everything have to be so _overwhelming._ "No," he responds. "What time is it?"

"Uhhh," he hears Phil fumble with something that jingles a little, until he calls out, "Seven in the morning. You slept for 14 hours. Breakfast should be in about an hour or so."

He turns around and pulls the door shut, already getting undressed. He can speed through a shower before he's expected to go to breakfast, and Phil will just have to get over it.

It's only once he stumbles his way into the throne room, fresh from a shower, that he realizes he has no idea where these people eat. Once again, he's faced with huge rooms and the bustling of people, and he's just standing in the middle of it all. He doesn't even know where to start. Would the dining room be downstairs? Surely it would. 

He must look confused, because a girl much shorter than him taps him on the shoulder, and pulls him from his thoughts. She smiles sweetly at him, but she also looks concerned.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

He fumbles with what to say for a few moments, before he settles on being honest. "I'm uh. Supposed to be at breakfast right now, but I don't…" he trails off awkwardly.

"Oh, same! I'm Niki! We can go together, if you wanna just follow me."

"Um," he says eloquently. "Okay."

And so he keeps his eyes on her back as she weaves expertly between people and circles around a stairway to a hall. No one populates it, so he can absently walk after her without worrying about losing her.

They turn to the left, and enter what must be the dining hall. The smell of eggs immediately hits him, wafting through the air and straight to his stomach. It growls in response.

At the head of the table, Phil is already sitting. On the side, a boy with brown curly hair and a beanie sits, grinning and laughing at something Phil said. 

"Hey!" Niki calls out with a wave, and drags Techno over to the table by his arm. "He's supposed to be here, right?"

"Techno! You made it! I realized I never told you where to go," Phil says sheepishly.

" _This_ is Techno?" The boy asks, and points right at Techno, mouth hanging open. "But he's just a kid!"

"Um." Techno says, bleary, and once again feels like punching himself.

Phil promptly clicks his tongue, and gives the boy a disapproving glance. "You're a kid too, Wil. Don't be rude."

The kid- Wil- pouts in response, and starts pushing the eggs on his plate around with his fork. Phil rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Techno, that's Wilbur, my son. And Niki is one of the gardeners. I have no clue where Dream is, but he comes over a lot too."

Techno sits on the other side of Phil and Niki sits next to Wilbur. At the sound of Dream's name, Wilbur scowls. "You know he's a thief, right? He's constantly swiping shit. George and Sapnap are kinda cool, I guess."

"I know. But it's not like we're gonna miss it. He only does it because he has to."

 _Because he has to._ Techno frowns, and stares down at the plate in front of him. It already has food on it, and he forces some eggs into his mouth, although he doesn't really want them anymore.

"Yeah, yeah. You just make excuses because you like him."

"Wil, he's just a kid," Niki implores, giving him an exasperated look. 

Wilbur rolls his eyes, and exaggeratedly stabs an egg. Meanwhile, Techno wonders what is going on, and becomes increasingly happy that no one is looking at him anymore, even if he feels awkward and left out.

But of course, it doesn't stay that way. Techno can already tell that Wilbur is a curious kid, so it's no surprise when the boy starts asking questions.

"So, Techno, how old are you?"

He stops moving his fork half way between his plate and his mouth, letting it hang in the air as his gaze darts between each person. They're all looking at him now. The sad part is, he doesn't technically know for sure. He'd just grouped himself in with the kids who looked to be his size.

"I don't know for sure," he says. "13, I think."

"You don't…" Techno catches the withering glare Phil sends Wilbur. "Nevermind. Why do you do tournaments when you're like, four?"

"Wilbur."

Techno shrugs, and gives him a level stare. "They're fun. I like winning."

Wilbur blinks at him once, then twice, before glancing at Phil. They exchange a look, and Wilbur frowns. "Okay, okay."

The room settles into an uncomfortable silence, for one, two, three beats, filled instead with the scrape of utensils.

Until Wilbur stops, and locks gazes with Techno, and suddenly, it's like they're the only two people in the room. It's Wilbur and Techno, lost to the rest of the world as the boy tilts his head.

"How many people have you killed?"

" _Wilbur Soot!"_

Techno's fork clatters to his plate, and he stares Wilbur down blankly. He can feel Wilbur's vague disdain, and he can see it in his eyes, and all he wants to do is _shut him up,_ with his elitist attitude and the way he looks down on Techno.

"Plenty," he says with a sharp grin, leaning over the table, capturing Wilbur's gaze with his own. "Why?"

Wilbur cringes and sinks in his seat a little, and Phil's wings furrow and quiver, a show of what Techno assumes is anger. He leans back in his chair and tunes out Phil's yelling, even once it's directed at him. He doesn't care that much anyway.

He waits until Phil is finished and they sit in tense silence before he asks, "Why did you want me here anyway?"

Phil seems to ponder his words for a moment, the feathers of his wings smoothing a little. "At first, it was to ask you to work under me," he admits. "But that was before I knew you were a thirteen year old boy."

"I work for you," Niki points out, eyebrow raised. "I'm eleven."

"Yeah, but that's because your mom does," Wilbur says, and he sounds a little sour as he speaks, still upset from their previous conflicts.

Techno stands, and circles his chair, pushing it in. "I'm not staying here unless I'm doing something. I don't have time to sit around and play dollhouse," he announces firmly. "So work it out, or I'm leaving."

Coolly, he walks off, even though he's trembling a little inside. He really didn't need to get so angry about it, did he? Shit, he's gonna have to start living on the streets again. But at least he'll be training and preparing for the next tournament, instead of sitting here having breakfast with people who don't even know him.

He hears Phil calling out for him, but promptly ignores him. The man knows where to find him if it's actually something worthwhile, he decides. And so he starts his journey back to his room, wondering what the hell he's going to do while he waits for Phil to break.

He reaches his room without issue, half glad that no one followed him up. His crown is the first thing to go, tossed to his night stand. He plops down in the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

Well. He could always re-read one of his books. He wonders if they have violins here. Hearing that music last night has made him yearn for it in a way he hadn't realized he could. 

Maybe he'll ask some day, if all goes well. 

For now, he waits.

Waiting slowly turns into sleeping, which he does until what the clock reads to be five in the evening. He hadn't realized how deprived he'd been, constantly sleeping with one eye open on the streets. The comfort and safety of a soft bed in the castle is a blessing he's not stupid enough to deny for now.

His ribs still ache, but it's bearable, he thinks as he rolls out of bed. Maybe he'll try finding a library. Some new books would be nice, if he's going to be stuck here. 

He wanders out of his room with a yawn, vision blurry until he scrubs his eyes. He spares a glance toward the room that'd had the person playing guitar yesterday, and wonders briefly who it could've been. 

When he opens the doors at the end of the corridor, he's immediately greeted with an angry tone down in the throne room. It sounds a lot like Phil. He ducks around the corner, and presses himself to the wall, ready to snoop.

"-kid! Are you fucking kidding me?! I ought to fire you, right here, right now!"

"Sir," a woman's voice quivers. "With all due respect, there have never been any rules for who-"

Phil practically growls. "Oh, don't give me that bullshit! Complete jurisdiction! I give you  _ complete jurisdiction _ over the tournaments and you let thirteen year olds become child soldiers and killers?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Good. Think into the future next time. Set some goddamn rules."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches the woman turn around and shuffle away, her head down. He blinks rapidly. Had Phil just… barred him from competition?

Like  _ hell  _ he'll let that stop him. 

He's about to head down the stairs when Phil all but appears in front of him, wings flapping steadily as he flies over the railing. They make eye contact, and Techno shrinks a little.

"I didn't hear anything," he says immediately.

"Don't lie. I'm not here to fight with you."

Awkwardly, he purses his lips. "...okay."

Phil sighs, and crosses his arms. "I can't in good conscience let you work for me." He pauses, and Techno opens his mouth to argue, but Phil cuts him off. " _ However _ , I can offer you training under the guard, as well as a place to stay. I'd really hate to see you on the streets, so I hope you'll stay."

Silence invades the space between them, filled only with Techno tapping his foot. "Okay. Can I still fight?"

"In tournaments?" Phil asks, even though he already knows.

"Let me participate, or I'm leaving."

"Techno," Phil nearly pleads, his eyes wide. "You're too  _ young.  _ You shouldn't be doing that, not-"

"I already  _ have. _ " He points out firmly, clenching his fists. "You can't protect me. It's not your job, and I don't need it."

Phil steps back, and it falls quiet again. "Fine." He whispers, sounding utterly defeated. "I can't stop you, but if the tournament runners do, it isn't my fault."

_ It would be your fault,  _ he thinks solemnly, but doesn't say it. He won't let them stop him, either. "Well. Do you have a library?" He asks bluntly.

Phil nods, and tells him it's the second door down the right hall. That gives him something to do, at least. 

He leaves Phil, feeling the man's eyes on him the whole way down the stairs. He tries not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nethertwt)!


	3. between you, between me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i explore technos relationship w wilbur and dream. and a little with phil. this chapter was so pog to write 
> 
> thank you all for the support! we'll be getting more into the actual soulmates part eventually, but for now, take some other stuff. your comments are all much appreciated, and i'll continue responding, though it takes a while!
> 
> <3

The library is fucking  _ huge. _ He gets so excited that he nearly lets out a yell at the sight of it, but manages to just barely reel himself in. He's never seen so many books in one place before.

It's a bit overwhelming, because he isn't sure where to start, but his excitement stomps that anxious feeling right down. Books line every wall, with windows just above the shelves. There's a chandelier in the center of the room, just above that same dark green carpet. There are actually a lot of tables in the room, though most of them are small. There's plenty of seating, be it from couches or single recliners, all of which match. 

Absently, he wanders over to one of the walls, dragging his hand along the spines of the books. His fingers pick up dust, and he brushes them off on his shirt. He stops on a random book, and pulls it out.

The back tells him it's about a war from thousands of years ago, back when hybrids were ridiculed. A lot has changed since then, or he wouldn't be standing in this castle that belongs to a man with wings. 

He knows a lot about this war. One of his books is written on the subject, and he's read it so many times he could nearly recite it. 

He flips open the book, and it shows a woman with long, fluffy hair and pointed ears. The caption deems her the author of the book, and also names her as a sheep hybrid. He smiles without meaning to. Finally, one written from the other side of the war.

Cradling it close, he continues on to another. The second he reads the word 'soulmate' he slides it back in, and reminds himself of the awesome book he has in his hands.

He grins, and immediately plops down in the nearest recliner. There's a stack of books on the small stand next to it, which must have been left behind. He reaches over to read the spine of the topmost one, just curious.

"Techno?" 

Techno yelps, and drops his book right from his lap, whipping around. About ten feet away stands Wilbur, looking sheepish as he fiddles with a guitar. Bristling, he crosses his arms and turns away.

"Sorry for being rude earlier," he says, and shifts his weight back and forth. "I don't really know you, so it's not fair to judge."

With nothing to say, Techno just bends over and plucks his book from the ground. He plucks the book at the top of the stack and flips it over to read the cover.

_ The Art of Soulmarks. _

Suddenly, talking to Wilbur seems appealing. He tosses it back onto the table, and looks back at Wilbur over his shoulder. "It's fine, I guess," he murmurs. Immediately, Wilbur grins and rushes over, guitar swaying as he holds it. It fits in his hands perfectly, like it was made for him.

He helps himself to the recliner nearest to Techno, and settles down, resting his guitar in his lap. 

"Do you like music?" Wilbur asks as he plucks the strings and messes with the pegs.

"I played violin," he admits. He's bored already. He'd much rather be fighting right now. Or at least reading. This is such a waste of his time.

The grin on Wilbur's face grows even wider as he strums a perfectly tuned chord. "Violin? It kinda fits you."

Techno doesn't say anything, straightening his posture and glancing away. He doesn't really get how an instrument can  _ fit _ someone. He really only played violin because he was bored, but going without it has definitely made him realize a few things. His hands really do miss holding a bow.

Wilbur doesn't ask him to speak. He just plays a few different chords, humming under his breath. He looks relaxed, his spine curved and his muscles loose as he strums the guitar. He's the picture of contentment, as his random chords evolve into something more akin to a melody.

It's just a guitar, and this is a boy he knows nothing about. But for some reason, he feels like he can see Wilbur's heart splayed out on the table between them. He glows in the sunlight as he plays, radiant and bright with his grin and fluffy hair. It's utterly infectious, Techno thinks as he finds himself smiling a little in return.

Wilbur is really good. Techno knows that, even if he has no other reference to prove it. His heart is in his music, and that makes it special. He finds himself closing his eyes, the tightness of his shoulders lessening ever so slightly as the sounds of Wilbur's humming and his guitar fill his ears.

It's almost… enjoyable.

Until Wilbur stops, and his anxiety floods back in at full force, leaving him shaking his leg and fiddling with the book in his hands. This is too normal. Why is Wilbur treating him so well? It doesn't make sense. 

His hands itch and itch and itch, and he wishes he had a sword right now. He's never been good at talking. 

"You're a strange kid, Technoblade," Wilbur says, and promptly misses his note. He curses a little to himself, before restarting. "I don't understand why you would fight by choice."

Techno stiffens again, his leg stilling. "It's not really…" he trails off, realizing he has no valid rebuttal. "I mean. The sky is blue, the grass is green."

"Is fighting for you like music is for me?" Wilbur asks, and genuinely sounds like he's trying to get it.

_ ("What do friends even do?"  _

_ "The hell? I don't know! Talk about… dreams and stuff.") _

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "I doubt it," Techno deadpans.

Wilbur stops, and leans forward over his guitar, his eyes on the floor and his hands on his knees. "I feel like I can't breathe without it," Wilbur says with a wistful smile. "Like it makes me who I am."

Techno wonders if he's like that. He wonders if a life without fighting is a life he can live. He thinks of Phil trying to get him to stop, and recalls thinking that nothing could. 

Maybe he's crazy. Maybe he's the stereotypical dangerously violent mob hybrid, relying on swords instead of words and relishing in the wars rather than peace. Maybe it's always been that way.

"Hey." Wilbur's voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he blinks. The two of them lock eyes again, and he feels Wilbur searching,  _ digging.  _ It makes him squirm in his seat, his stomach churning as he waits for Wilbur to speak.

His voice is anything but gentle when he asks, "Do you know who you are, Technoblade?"

It haunts him as they walk to dinner together, Wilbur deciding to just drag his guitar along with them, and Techno bringing his book. The words were the last thing spoken between the two of them, the silence once again heavy as they pad down the corridors. 

However, the second they set foot in the dining hall, Wilbur is back to smiling and laughing, waving at his dad and Niki. Almost like he never even stopped.

This time, the table is more full. Three boys sit in a row to Phil's right, plates already loaded with spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad. A stone settles in his stomach. Great. More people to deal with.

"There you two are," Phil claps, smiling widely at them. "Dream, Sap, George, this is Techno."

The one with a mask that covers everything but his mouth drops his forkful of spaghetti, splattering sauce everywhere as he gapes. "Like…  _ Technoblade _ ?  _ That's _ Technoblade?"

In a stellar stroke of brilliance, he stiffly sits down next to Niki and proceeds to simply stutter.

"Dream, you're freaking him out," the one with dark brown hair faux-whispers, his goggles propped up on his head.

"I'm sorry!" Dream, apparently, scrambles, shoving spaghetti into his mouth and continuing, voice muffled. "I just thought you'd be… bigger."

Techno plops some spaghetti on his plate and forgoes answering at all. He gets only a little, and mixes in his sauce. There's meat in it. He hopes it isn't pork. He thinks he's more of a piglin than anything, but he'll never forget the kids in the village forcing him to eat it because they thought it was funny.

_ Would the king really feed you pork? _ He ridicules himself, and shakes his head a little.  _ As if it isn't obvious. _

He eats quickly and silently, only glancing up when the boys introduce themselves.

"I'm Dream," the ill-mannered, masked one says, as if it wasn't obvious. He points to the one with a bandana and black hair. "That's Sapnap." Next, he gestures to the one with the goggles. "And he's George."

Techno hums, and polishes off the last of his spaghetti before eating half a piece of garlic bread in one go.

"Techno, slow down," Phil chastises. 

He wolfs down a second piece of garlic bread and stands, casting Wilbur a glance. The boy is only just getting his food on his plate. He licks his lips. "Where can I find a sword?"

Phil parts his lips, but Techno can already tell he's not going to say anything of importance, so he cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "Nevermind, I'll work it out."

Leaving his book behind for later, he walks away with his hands in his pockets, pretending he doesn't hear Sapnap ask, "Is he always like that?"

He also pretends he doesn't hear Phil's exasperated sigh in response.

For the first time since he's entered it, he ventures out of the castle. Still, he stays within the gates, beelining straight for one of the guards. He clears his throat and she turns around, hand hovering over her sword for a moment before her eyes take him in.

She smiles. "Are you lost?"

His arm hair stands on end, and he resists the urge to bare his teeth. "Um. No. Do you have… wooden swords?" He figures it'd be a stretch to get anyone to give him a sword when he's so young, which is angering, but fair he supposes.

"Ah," she says, and clicks her tongue, gesturing for him to follow. They start walking through the garden, straight toward a shed. "You must be Techno."

He blinks. When had he given any identifying information? He blames Phil. Whatever it is probably has something to do with the old man. 

Their trip to the small shed is short, and she pulls a key from underneath her armor and unlocks the door. When she opens it, he's greeted with an array of tools, mostly of the gardening variety. Stuck in the corner, though, are a few unused wooden swords, and he smiles. 

She reaches over and tosses him one, and he catches it by the handle dutifully. They're much better quality than the ones he throws together. His hands are already appreciating the lack of splinters.

"Good luck," she tells him with a wave, and brushes past him.

He brandishes his new weapon happily, thrilled to be holding a sword again. Now to find something to beat up.

That something comes in the form of  _ someone. _ He's tracking his way into the castle when he literally bumps into Dream, nearly sending him spiralling. He has to grab the boy's hoodie to stop him from falling to the ground. With a grunt, he yanks him back upright.

"Sorry," he says plainly, and starts to walk away.

"Wait! Wait, wait!" Dream yells, grabbing his cape and tugging. 

Techno spins on his heel, raising a brow as he watches Dream pull off the bag sitting on his back. He opens it frantically, and turns it toward Techno.

He leans in to peek inside, and among other supplies, he sees another wooden sword.

"Spar?" Dream asks, his grin just barely visible below his smiley mask. 

Techno blinks. He's never had someone come to him  _ wanting  _ to spar. He's only ever had a partner out of necessity. He feels something warm bubbling inside of him, but he promptly forces it down.

He shouldn't get his hopes up, he tells himself as he gestures for Dream to follow him out to the garden.

"Alright," Techno starts, bending his knees and gripping his sword tight. "I'm not going easy."

"You don't scare me," the other boy declares, sticking out his tongue and mirroring Techno's stance.

Techno takes a deep, steadying breath, and stills himself. The first thing he notices is that he's stuck with the sun in his eyes, and he definitely needs to fix that. He slowly starts circling Dream, trying to force him to switch positions.

It works. Dream doesn't seem willing to make the first move, and mimics Techno's movements until they've gone in a full circle. Techno doesn't miss the way he squints, ever so slightly.

With that, he lunges, aiming for the shoulder.

Grunting, Dream parries well with the forte of the sword, redirecting his attack. He regrips and falls back once again.

"Only parry if you can't dodge," Techno suggests as he sidesteps the plunge of Dream's sword. As fast as he can, he brings his sword down on the end of Dream's, trying to force him to drop it.

Dream's hold is much tighter than Techno thought it had been, and he keeps his weapon, stepping back to clear his head.

He's forced to parry when Dream attacks suddenly, just barely managing to divert the blow aimed at his gut. Excitement courses through his veins, his adrenaline starting to pump as he grins. They're not doing anything high level, but it's  _ fun.  _ It's…

Dream dodges his counterattack, to his dismay. He's getting sloppy. He needs to calm down and focus. Something niggles in the back of his head, begging for more. He ignores it.

He breathes, and steels his hands again, brows furrowed. 

He swipes his sword diagonally, aiming straight for Dream's hands. He's just a bit faster than the other boy's attempt at dodging, and he hits his target as hard as he can, grinning. He will beat Dream, he  _ will _ , he  _ has to.  _ The whispering in his head tells him to  _ kill _ , he wants to see blood-

Dream lets out a cry and releases his sword so that he holds it one handed. Techno takes his chance, bringing his sword down hard on the end of Dream's weapon, forcing him to drop it. He kicks his leg out not a beat later, sweeping Dream off his feet.

The boy lands in the grass with a grunt, cradling his swelling, bruising hand. The point of Techno's sword settles directly against his throat with practiced ease, pressing into it gently. His hands tremble, but he can't pinpoint why. 

"You're dead," Techno tells him artlessly. "It doesn't matter if it hurts, you have to keep going."

Dream lip curls. "You didn't have to be so rough, you know. I think you broke something."

"And if I were anyone else, you would be dead." He pulls his sword away, resting it on his shoulder. "Take it seriously."

"Not everyone fights to kill," Dream insists, crossing his arms. "Not everyone is like you."

"Clearly I don't, or you'd be dead."

"I think if you had the weapon to, I would be."

Techno takes a step back, his breath catching in his chest. He wouldn't have done that.

Would he?

"Sorry," Techno murmurs reluctantly, and offers a hand. Dream takes it thankfully, rising to his feet with a huff. "I just really need a tournament," He says in the hopes of explaining.

Dream smiles a little, leaning down to seize his sword. "What, is it a destressing thing or something?" He jokes.

Techno nods, and lowers his stance. "It is, yeah. Again?"

Dream pauses, mask staring at him blankly for a moment before he shakes out his shoulders and follows suit. "Let's do it."

They spar until the sun has dipped below the horizon, and they can no longer see without the faint light of the garden's lamppost. Techno's ribs ache, reminding him of his own injuries. He does his best to teach Dream what he can, thinking of both the fencing techniques and the general fighting techniques he's learned. Dream picks up on everything with extreme ease, landing new techniques within two or three tries. He might even be a faster learner than Techno himself.

Teaching isn't really Techno's strong suit, but by the time the sun has disappeared from the sky, Dream has beat him plenty of times. Dream lies on the ground next to him, staring up at the first stars appearing in the sky while Techno observes the sword. He casts quick glances at the other boy every now and then.

By now, Techno has noticed his soulmark. It spans along his forearms, visible because of his rolled hoodie sleeves. There's two lines from what he can tell, but they're white. Techno doesn't know what white means.

"Is it different with a real one?" Dream asks softly.

Stirring, he hums and sits the sword on the ground. "Yeah. Better."

"Is it hard?" the boy asks, turning his head to look at Techno. "I mean… they respawn, but…"

Techno shakes his head, and sighs. "It doesn't matter to me. Maybe in another world, things are different."

"Yeah," Dream whispers, and turns to look at the sky once more, eyes wide. "I'd like to think so."

Instead of heading back inside, he decides to walk with Dream to his house. He really just doesn't want to bump into Phil or Wilbur again tonight, so the later he gets done, the happier he is. Dream seems to take it as some sort of show of friendship, and excitedly talks his ear off the whole way, while Techno zones out at his side and hums every now and then. 

It's clear to Techno that Dream makes this trip often. He takes turns seemingly on autopilot, his feet trekking back streets Techno couldn't hope to name. In fact, the only street he knows at all is main street, and they seem to be a long ways away from there. There's not a soul on the street they walk now, and it's lined with houses rather than stalls, albeit shitty ones.

The only light offered is that of the crescent moon, already high in the sky above them. It's turned out to be a clear night, the sky dotted with stars. It's really nice, though it's not quite as pretty as the sky back in the village. All the light pollution will do that, he supposes.

Dream stops in front of one of the houses and turns to face him, hands in his pockets. "You gonna be okay getting back to the castle?" He asks. 

"Um," Techno starts, and turns to look over his shoulder. He can just barely see the outline in the distance. With a shrug, he looks back at Dream. "Yeah, it'll be fine."

"Okay," Dream says with a smile, giving him a thumbs up. "We'll have to spar again sometime. I'll keep practicing."

Sheepishly, Techno shifts his weight, unsure of what to say. "Right."

"Night!" Dream waves at him and spins on his heel, strolling up to the door and pulling it open. Light spills onto the dimly lit street, illuminating Dream's outline. Techno hears him call out to someone, and with that, the door closes.

He stands for a moment, staring at the door before slowly turning around. 

By the time he turns up at the gates of the castle, the moon is on the west side of the sky, well on track to giving way to the sunrise. He's fucking exhausted, half dead on his feet from walking around aimless and lost. He shuffles up to the guards standing post, yawning widely.

"State your business," one of them demands, and he blinks.

"It's Technoblade. I'm literally staying here."

The guard hums. "Proof of identification, please."

This time, he blinks  _ several _ times. "I'm thirteen. What the hell kind of identification do you want me to have?"

"The gates are closed past midnight," the other guard chimes in unhelpfully. "It's policy. I'm sorry."

Techno is going to strangle Phil the first chance he gets to. He stifles the urge to growl, his fingers twitching. "So you're going to leave a thirteen year old out on the streets."

The first guard furrows their brows, rolling their eyes. "Oh, don't pretend you don't belong there. Everyone knows who you are and what you do."

His brain comes to a screeching halt as he processes the words. A grin finds its way to his face, and he waves his hand. "No worries," he starts, and makes eye contact. His hand darts out, reaching directly for the sheath at the guard's hip. He only just barely manages to pull the sword out before his wrist is being gripped hard.

"Don't even try it, brat," the second guard states, and he knows there's a sword pointed at his back. The three of them are in a stalemate, the first guard too paranoid to try for their sword and the second surely knowing the repercussions of killing him.

"Phil wouldn't be happy if he knew you were pointing that at me," he states simply, trying to think his way out of this situation. He's not going to die again, he  _ can't.  _ But at the same time… excitement curls in his stomach at the thought of a fight, with a  _ real _ sword, and  _ real _ blood.

The first guard barks out an incredulous laugh. " _ Phil  _ has terrible judgement. People like you aren't supposed to set foot in the castle. That tournament is a watchlist, and if it weren't for him stepping in, you'd be  _ imprisoned _ ."

The tournament is a  _ what? _ His head spins with questions, moving so fast that it starts to ache. Does Phil know? Is he okay with that? There's no way Phil knows, he would never approve of that. Right?

Unless he saw how often Techno was winning and wanted to keep him under his thumb. He'd tried to persuade Techno to stop attending tournaments. Where did that sentiment come from? Concern, or caution?

Still, for the first time in his life, he wishes Phil would show up right now. He's actively battling the urge to get in a fight, worried of the punishments he'd face, but he's not sure how else he's going to get out of this.

All he knows is that the sword in his hand is far too fucking tempting. Stabbing members of the guard seems like an extremely punishable crime, one that he's not exactly ready to trade his freedom for.

He drops it, and tugs his arm, trying to free his wrist. "Whatever, you win," he murmurs. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, something in his head whispering its disappointment, making him aware of his desire to do anything but surrender.

"Get out," the second guard tells him, moving their sword so he can shimmy out from between them. The other drops his wrist, but they do so reluctantly. "If we see you again, you're dead."

And he knows they mean it. He walks with his head high and his shoulders straight, as if he hasn't just given in. As if he isn't going to sleep on the streets for the night.

He at least chooses an alley closer to the castle, using his cape as a blanket as he curls up on his side. He feels so empty, and so itchy. He lies there for hours, thinking of nothing, unable to do anything but stare at the pavement.

He'd be imprisoned. Is that really true? He doesn't know enough about previous tournament winners to tell for sure. Had Phil unintentionally saved him, or was he just being watched? His ribs throb painfully.

Needless to say, he doesn't sleep that night. As soon as the sun is up, he makes the short walk to the castle's gates, ducked out of sight to make sure the shift has changed. He's never felt so relieved at the sight of the female guard who'd taken him to get his sword.

He strolls up as casually as he can, trying not to think about how shitty he probably looks.

"Oh, Techno," the guard immediately recognizes him, giving him a smile. "Where have you been? I think Philza was looking for you last night."

"I was out," he says vaguely. "Can I be let in, or are the gates still closed?"

"No, it's fine," she tells him, and with that, the gates are open.

He stumbles in and calls his thanks to her and her partner. Immediately he attracts the attention of Niki, who stops watering flowers at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, Techno!" She yells out with a smile and a wave. "Glad you're okay! Phil wants you when you get the chance!"

"'Kay," he answers back with a tired, half-hearted wave of his own, as the next set of guards open the door of the castle for him. 

On the other side is Phil, biting the nail of his thumb as he paces back and forth, eyes downcast.

"Hey," he says unceremoniously, and Phil's head shoots up.

"Oh thank god," the man jumbles out in relief, practically running over to him. His hands hover awkwardly over Techno, like he wants to touch him but doesn't really know how. "I thought you fucking ran away!" 

He scowls, and crosses his arms. "And that would've worried you  _ why?" _

Phil stares at him like he's grown another head and started singing karaoke. "The hell? Because I  _ care?  _ Now where have you been?" He has on the type of stern voice Techno has heard him use on Wilbur before, and it makes him uncomfortable.

"Ask your stupid guards," he grumbles, and shoves past him, stalking toward the staircase.

" _ Techno,  _ get back here! What does that  _ mean?" _

"You're not my dad!" He yells before he can think better of it as he rushes up the stairs, footsteps loud and quick. 

Phil calls out to him again, but he blatantly ignores it, storming his way down the hall and to his room. He hears Wilbur peek out of his room and ask what's wrong, and he brushes him off too, pulling his door closed and sinking down against it.

He rests his forehead on his bent knees, letting out a big breath. He's acting like a  _ brat,  _ like a  _ child. _ He is  _ not  _ a child.

Exhaustion sweeps over him anew, dragging down his shoulders and making him feel heavy. He hugs his knees, and furrows his brows as his vision gets blurry.

Is he crying? He hasn't cried in ages. Why is he crying?

He wants to get out of here. He wants to leave forever and ever. He wants to see  _ Schlatt.  _ Schlatt didn't have any ulterior motives. He misses that simplicity.

His mind is a mess, and even though his brain begs for it, he can't fall asleep. He knows Phil is right outside his door, he can feel his presence looming there.

He does not let him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nethertwt)!


	4. the salt in your wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER POG! i hope everyone had a happy thursday! or thanksgiving if you celebrate! im going to start spacing updates, so that i don't stress myself as much about updating quickly.
> 
> thank you all for your support as always, you mean the world to me <3

Techno waits four hours, according to the clock on the wall.  _ Four sleepless hours _ for Phil to leave so that Techno can. He guesses the king must not be all that busy if he can spend so long standing in front of a door.

His limbs are heavy as he heaves himself to his feet, aching from sitting on the floor in the same position for so long. He'd been afraid to move, worried it would spark Phil to talk to him. That'd been the  _ last  _ thing he'd wanted.

He turns around and sees a fresh set of clothes on the nightstand. Someone must have set them out for him last night hoping he'd come back. Part of him wishes he hadn't, even as he changes into the clean clothes. His eyelids are still droopy, bags prominent under his eyes, but he can't settle down long enough to sleep.

He wonders if another tournament has been announced. Probably, right? Should he go out to check? He'd get to see Schlatt, too. He doesn't know what this aching in his stomach is when he thinks of Schlatt, but it's starting to bother him. Maybe it'll be pacified if he goes to see him.

Gently, he opens his door, incredibly grateful when it doesn't creak. He slips out without a sound, and slowly closes it behind him. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as soon as the door clicks shut. His goal is to avoid running into anyone he knows. 

Adjusting his cape, he starts down the corridor, trying to be as quiet as possible as he goes. He glances at Wilbur's door as he passes it, and breathes in relief when it doesn't budge. 

The clock had read 11:44. That's lunchtime, he thinks. He'll be lucky if they're all in the dining room, so he can creep right past and no one has to know. 

And lucky he is. The second his feet hit the bottom of the staircase, he hears faint laughter coming from down the hall in the dining room. The tension he carries with him releases ever so slightly, and he rushes his way out the door. 

As the gates open before him, he sends the castle one last glance, and wonders why leaving feels so wrong.

Main street is insanely busy today. Techno has bumped into multiple people and been given dozens of dirty looks. He doesn't exactly know why, considering he's clean and weaponless, but he doesn't take much offense regardless.

Schlatt is in the same place he always is, turned around on his tippy toes as he reaches for a sword lying on top of a shelf. Techno nearly laughs aloud.

"Schlatt," he calls with a wave, helping himself over the counter of the stall. 

"Oh! Techno!" He doesn't even turn around, jumping a little as his fingers flail for the sword. "I was just thinking about you. Lift me."

He blinks and stares for a moment, before his brain slowly kicks in and he sighs. Reluctantly, he plucks Schlatt from the ground and lifts him until he can grab the sword.

"Damn, you're strong," Schlatt tells him as he drops back to the ground. He hands Techno the sword, waving his hand. "Keep this, I don't want it."

"Then why-" he stops. He'd thought by now he'd accept that he most likely isn't going to understand why Schlatt does  _ anything. _

The boy is looking as dapper as ever, with his suit and tie. He plops down in his chair and stretches his legs out with a groan. "Did you come around cause there's another tournament? Seems to be a trend with you," he says evenly, popping his fingers one by one.

Techno grins. "There's another tournament?"

"Not announced yet, but it should be happening in like… a month," Schlatt tells him happily.

His brows furrow. "Not announced? How'd you know?"

Schlatt blinks blankly, tilting his head. "My dad's on the committee," he says like it's obvious. "How do you think you got accepted? They don't let kids in there, man."

Techno recalls the guards from before, and how they'd said the tournament was a watchlist. Did Schlatt know that too? Instead, he just smiles shakily. "You did that for me?"

"I had a good feeling about you," he says, grinning wide. He has a glint in his eyes that Techno's never seen in them before. "And I was right, so it pays off."

Something in the words makes Techno squirm, his stomach dropping. But he's face-to-face with someone on the inside, someone he can learn from. He takes his opportunity.

"Who even runs these things?" He asks as casually as he can, leaning against the counter.

"Ahh, just the staple families of the capitol. It's one of the only things the king doesn't really have jurisdiction over. It's a big deal."

_ Good news for me, _ Techno thinks with a smile.  _ They probably won't bar me from competing just because Phil asked, then.  _

Techno hums. "Sounds like it. Why'd they start doing them?"

Schlatt gives him a look that screams danger, and he freezes. It's gone the second he sees it, so quick he wonders if he was just imagining things. His shoulders settle. With a shrug and a smile, Schlatt says, "Couldn't tell you. I'm not all that involved."

But Techno has this sneaking suspicion Schlatt's being dishonest with him. With no way of proving it, he shakes off the conversation and decides to stop being nosy. 

After that, Schlatt does most of the talking, as Techno hides in his own head. Why is he so obsessed with these tournaments anyway? He's won so many times at this point that it doesn't even matter. But something prevents him from not participating, this yearning deep within him that demands he keeps fighting, demands he keep the crown on his head.

He's digging himself into a hole, one that he's not sure he can escape even now. It's a vicious cycle, almost an addiction. All he knows anymore is that losing is not an option, and giving up is the same as losing. If he turns around now…

If he turns around now, he'll be nothing. He's started climbing this mountain, and the top is nowhere in sight, yet still he reaches for it. Still, he climbs, cold and aching but never feeling the desire to stop. 

Stopping is failing. Stopping is  _ losing.  _ And Techno  _ doesn't  _ lose.

_ Do you know who you are, Technoblade? _

Maybe  _ this _ is who he is. Maybe this is who he'll always be. It feels wrong to be anything else.

When he leaves, he doesn't take Schlatt's sword with him.

When Techno opens the door to the castle, Phil stands on the other side, face schooled into a neutral expression as he stares. He's starting to get sick of Phil being everywhere at once. How does he even know when Techno will show up? 

"Remember how I said you can train with the guard?" Phil says with no preamble, emotions locked tightly away. Techno blinks.

"Yes?"

"Good. At the end of the corridor on the left. Go now."

Techno rolls his eyes.  _ Yeah, okay. Order me around all snippy. I don't care as much as you think I do. _

He does what Phil says regardless. The exhaustion is back to wearing at his bones, his movements sluggish as he trudges down the hall. He hasn't slept in so long, but his eyes physically can't stay shut. Hopefully training will wear him to the point of collapse, if luck's on his side.

The room at the very end of the corridor, as it turns out, is just empty. In it stands a woman, a guard he doesn't think he's met before, covered in diamond armor and holding a diamond sword. When he steps on the floor, is surprised that it's padded, but firm enough that his feet don't sink. 

"How many times have you won?" She asks immediately, twisting her sword back and forth in the light. It glitters ever so slightly, casting light on the floor. 

"Three," he answers hesitantly. "Why?"

She meets his eyes. "Curiosity."

Silence fills the air between them, in which she continues to stare him down wordlessly. Her gaze makes him squirm, and he suddenly feels extremely uncomfortable in his skin, like he should be anywhere else, anywhere but here.

"And do you plan to keep participating?"

He jumps at the suddenness of her words, and rolls his shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tenseness in them. "Without a doubt," he responds honestly.

She clicks her tongue, and without looking, reaches for the second sword sitting on the only shelf in the room, right next to her. She grabs it by the blade, and holds the handle out to him. 

He murmurs his thanks and takes it gratefully, thankful to finally be holding a real sword again. It hasn't even been a week and he'd already been yearning for the feeling. He grips and regrips it, trying to reacquaint himself with the feeling and the weight.

"Listen to me."

Techno looks up at her demand.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're a weapon," she tells him bluntly, and his heart plummets. "A much better ally than an enemy."

_ You're a weapon,  _ he says in his head, and suddenly, everything makes sense.  _ You're a weapon. That's why Phil has you in the palm of his hand. He'd rather have you in his control than anywhere else. _

But if that's the case, why does it feel so wrong?

The thoughts itch the corners of his brain and stick there, plaguing him. His limbs feel numb and heavy, his eyes locked on the sword in his hands. He can almost see the blood staining it, dripping off of it and forming a pool on the floor. When he blinks, it's gone, leaving nothing in its wake. He furrows his brows and squeezes the handle.

He's going insane. He sees blood everywhere lately. He's so certain it stains his hands, so certain that he sometimes spends minutes at a time scrubbing them, getting under his nails, trying to wash away blood that was never even there. 

When he looks back up, she stands right in front of him, gaze cold. 

"I don't know what Philza wants from you," she murmurs. "But I don't care. You've got the bloodlust, I can feel as much. All that matters is that you recognize what you're good for."

His heart shatters and a feeling of hopelessness blankets over him, his fingers and toes tingling. He feels like he's been tossed into an ocean, but he doesn't have the energy to swim to the surface.

He doesn't fight it. The water fills his lungs, and becomes a part of him. 

_ You're a weapon.  _

_ This is who you are. _

Training with the woman- she refuses to give him her name- is dozens of times worse than training with Fruit. Where Fruit would've helped him off the floor, apologized for dirty blows, and assisted him in doctoring his wounds, she does the exact opposite. Not to mention, his sluggishness had made his reaction speed and thought process much slower.

The armor she'd supplied is covered in dents and etched with cuts by the time the session comes to a close. He's covered in sweat; it soaks through his shirt and rolls along the curves of his face. He's so fucking exhausted that he doesn't even move from where he sits in the floor of the training room.

Blood drips down his arms and falls off of them, splattering on the floor. He stares at it, and presses his fingers to one of the cuts, relishing in the sting of it. It makes him feel alive, like he's still somewhat of a person. 

He hears her walk out of the room, wordless as she goes, and he falls to the floor. He's panting, loudly at that, his chest heaving as he lies in his own blood and sweat.

God, he hurts. He's been nicked at least once on every part of his body not covered in armor, be it the crook of his elbows or his cheekbone. 

The thing with Fruit was that he wasn't looking to hurt Techno at all. Any injuries he sustained were accidental; slips of his sword, or moments of distraction on Techno's part. 

The woman doesn't care about that. Her sword is merciless, sparing him only a killing blow. He's half shocked she even reprieves him of that much, considering he'd just respawn with a new scar anyway.

(He pretends she didn't explicitly tell him it wasn't her fault if she were to accidentally kill him. He pushes those words from his memory.)

The door cracks, and the most he manages is moving his eyes. They land on clothed legs, green cape hanging around them. He blinks.  _ Phil.  _

He tries to sit up, adamant that Phil shouldn't see him like this, but he physically can't bring himself to do it. His arms feel weighted as he tries to swing himself up, and he can't hold them. He  _ can't do it. _

_ Pathetic. _

A hand grips his arm firmly, tight enough to irritate the open wounds along his bicep, but not tight enough to hurt. He realizes they're gloved, and can't remember if Phil normally wears gloves. No matter how hard he racks his brain, he just can't come up with an answer. It makes his head ache.

Suddenly, he's being lifted into a sitting position, and Phil holds him up. As much as he hates it, he's entirely dependent on the man in front of him right now. And God, does he hate it. He's screaming in his head, but he can't even open his mouth to complain, the need for sleep weighing on him so heavily. 

"It's okay if you want to quit," Phil says gently. "It's okay."

Just barely, he shakes his head. As  _ if _ . That'll never be an option. It's impossible for him to give up, and it always has been. Even if it kills him- literally or figuratively- he won't stop. 

"Okay," he whispers back, brows furrowed. An arm weaves its way into the crook of his knees, and he groans aloud. Phil jolts, and his arm shifts a little.

Another arm wraps around his back, and carefully, Phil lifts him off the floor. Techno just lets his head fall back, and watches as they leave the training room, the door to it getting smaller and smaller. He's vaguely aware around the ringing in his ears that Phil is speaking, whispering words that Techno recognizes as kind ones. He feels warmer than before, tucked close to Phil.

He barely even realizes they're flying. He figures that's easier for Phil than walking. A few minutes later, and he feels himself being settled on an unfamiliar bed. The sheets are white, and so is the entire room around him. The smell of disinfectant hits his nose, and he scrunches it.  _ Must be the medical wing Phil had been talking about before. _

The pillow is a welcome feeling, soft and fluffy beneath his head. He looks down to Phil pulling off his gloves, and he lurches up, pulling his hands away.

"It's okay," Phil tells him placatingly, hands hovering. "I already know. I already know."

The words confuse him. He doesn't know what Phil knows, and that bothers him and winds him up. But behind the fog of fatigue, he can't string together thoughts or words properly to ask, to  _ demand. _

Slowly, he settles his hands back in his lap, and at the same pace Phil reaches for them. He's gentle as he pulls them off, revealing blisters that have been rubbed raw and burst open. 

The pink lines hang between them, an elephant in the room. Techno feels like he's going to burst.

But Phil says nothing. He holds Techno's hands for a moment, and never once looks down at them. His eyes stay locked firmly on Techno's, who gradually looks up to meet his gaze.

"It's okay," Phil promises him firmly, and not even his tired brain believes that, but he takes it regardless. 

Phil sits his hands down, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Techno doesn't fight it, leaning forward at Phil's request so that he can pull it off.

It's almost aggressive, the way Phil ignores his soulmarks. It makes Techno feel safe, secure. He knows someone has seen them, knows because he'd been changed, but there's a reason he wears gloves and long sleeve shirts.

Phil is respecting that, as best he can. It makes Techno… happy, he thinks is what this feeling is.

His skin tingles uncomfortably when Phil starts bandaging his right arm, all the way up it, covering up the marks as well as the nicks and cuts along it. He feels like he's on fire, or maybe suspended twenty feet in the air, or maybe an ugly combination of both. 

"I'm sorry about this," Phil says. Techno wonders what exactly he's apologizing for.

His eyes slide shut. "S'okay," he slurs, just for the sake of pacifying the man. "Just…"

"I know," he says again, voice small.

"M'fine," Techno insists, even though he can't open his eyes. His mind is running at half its usual speed, slowed down with the promise of sleep. But he can't settle into it, not with the rock settled in his stomach and the prickle along his skin. It's like his mind wants him to be on edge, but can't muster the energy to actually do so.

"You're not, Techno," Phil says worriedly. "You shouldn't pretend you are."

His brows furrow, and the ache in his head spikes. "Go away."

"I can't do that."

"You can," Techno grumbles.

Phil's hands recede little by little, until they're completely off of Techno. "Fine, then. Rest," Phil tells him, as if he wasn't going to do so anyway. "You need it."

He only hears Phil walk away, unwilling to open his eyes. As soon as the door shuts, his body relaxes, practically melting into the bed. It's not nearly as comfortable as the one in his room, but he's not exactly spoiled enough to need comfort to sleep. 

His exhaustion claims him.

_ The sword is light in his hands, almost like it isn't even there. He plunges it into someone's chest. He's lost count of how many he's killed. All he knows is that he yearns for it, desires it so deeply within himself that he'd be crazy to deny it. _

_ In the distance, he sees him, with his striped bucket hat and cape. His expression is unreadable from so far, but Techno falters anyway. His sword nearly slips out of his hands, and he regrips it tightly. The blood drips from it, splashes onto the grass below his feet.  _

_ There are tears in his eyes as he runs forward, feet firm and steady on the ground. The man doesn't move an inch. _

_ He comes to a screeching halt, tip of his sword centimeters from the man's neck. But he can't move it. His chest rises and falls. It is silent, and it is only them. Why can't he do it? _

_ He feels it swell within him, a warmth of sorts, but it only goes so far before it's stomped down. A shiver runs through his body, and he takes a shaky step back, a hand over his heart. _

_ It pounds, so loud he's sure the man can hear it. Nothing moves, nothing except their chests and his shaking hands.  _

_ "What are you?" He asks, panic surging below every inch of his skin. _

_ The man smiles, and says nothing. That smile. It feels so familiar, so... _

_ "Stop," he demands, but his voice breaks, and he takes another pace away, legs quivering underneath him. "Stop." _

_ The whispers in his head grow louder, demanding bloodshed, insisting he spare the man before him, tearing him apart at the seams.  _

_ "What do you want from me?" He asks no one in particular, and his breathing quickens as his sword tumbles from his hands. His eyes dart back and forth as the ground crumbles beneath him. The silence is deafening, the silence is haunting. "What do you want from me?" He screams this time, and locks eyes with the man in front of him. _

Phil _ , his brain supplies.  _ Phil _.  _

_ Phil.  _

_ "Save me!" He cries, and sounds childish when he does. There's an ache deep in his bones he can't ignore, but he doesn't understand. "What is this? Help me understand!" _

_ He sees blood again. Blood on his clothes, blood in his hair, blood covering Phil.  _ Good. Phil. Phil?

_ The blood is everywhere, and everything is red.  _ Oh God, the blood. Yes, the blood. Phil? 

_ He screams, and covers his ears, trying to force the whispers into silence. They only grow louder, and louder, even louder than he is. _

_ His soulmarks glow. His soulmarks? His soulmates…  _ it's always you, he thinks bitterly.

_ His screams cease, and tears fill his eyes. It's always you. _

_ The ground caves in. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually have a question to put here. what tag do you guys scroll? what tag did you find this under? like for example i scroll technos character tag. IDK just curious!!! 
> 
> thank you all :]


	5. i am not a dirty god

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off id like to thank everyone for the comments. i got loads of them and it really overwhelmed me, so im so sorry for not responding!
> 
> next i want to apologize for taking so long. school and depression really kicked my ass :( im feeling a bit better now though so now we're POPPING OFF! 
> 
> AND NOW: POG ART!!! anonymous_wraith thank you so much for the lovely pieces you're awesome <3
> 
> [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xwXJT1ARCqzILoCaA44DKffuTJEqjAlZ/view) and [here <3](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1JtYkQdTS67tNxV-9bMwGfYz2TXqOoZBn/view)

The next tournament comes around in a blur of blood and exhaustion. He'd been given a break, two days before it, told to use it to recover so he could win. 

He stands in line with his head held high, even as the cuts and bruises on his body itch and ache. He's really starting to rack them up, even though he does better in training now than he did at the beginning. He's not sure if he's gotten stronger or not, but his pain tolerance is definitely nothing to scoff at nowadays.

It doesn't matter. Royal guard or not, he'll win.

He readjusts his crown, and comes face to face with one of the tournament runners. He doesn't recognize them, but he's never really been good at faces.

They stare at each other, the air thickening with each passing second.

"You're not going to bar me," he says matter of factly, gripping his cape. "I'm the reigning champion."

They stare at him a couple moments longer before gesturing vaguely to the sign-in sheet. The teleportation star is draped around his neck as he writes his name happily. He doesn't even turn to look for her directions before he strolls into the lobby.

He makes a beeline for the armor and swords. The quicker he gets it on, the better. He's never felt safe cramped in this small room, surrounded by people itching to kill him. Especially not once the crown was placed on his head. Tournaments are an experience where he feels like it's him against the world, with the way people's eyes hungrily follow him.

It doesn't bother him. In fact, it fuels him. Their confidence and their hunger drive him, because he  _ knows _ he can crush them all. He's done it multiple times before, and he'll do it again. And again and again and again. 

Techno doesn't lose, and he doesn't die. 

He hooks the armor on in silence.

Ten minutes later, he's standing in the arena once again. Something thrums in his veins, pounds in his pulse, aches in his bones. It's always there, but something about this arena fans that flame into a forest fire, burning underneath his skin. He  _ craves. _

His fingers twitch, and he grips his sword, feeling his hands sting from the blisters that coat his palms. It doesn't bother him. 

He starts walking,  _ hunting. _

When a branch snaps, he immediately turns toward it. His shoulders almost tense, but he forces them to loosen, and rolls them once, twice. His eyes find a boy, probably just over 18, his arms shaky as he brandishes an axe.

Immediately, it's obvious that this is his first tournament. His limbs quiver and his eyes dart back and forth, too paranoid to focus on Techno watching through the bushes.

It's criminally easy, he thinks. It's so easy, the way his blade breaks the skin of the boy's neck in one fluid motion, and the first coat of blood covers his armor. He feels at home, as the boy falls to the ground. His body lingers only moments before it disappears altogether. He will respawn in moments, but those moments will feel like an eternity in that darkness.

Techno almost shudders.

_ Almost. _

His fingers brush the blood on his blade, and he stares down at it, mesmerized.

He can't explain it; he can never explain it. Within him is something that calls for the blood, something that yearns for it. He doesn't know how to tell it no, not when he sets foot in this arena and his sword is in his hand. When it comes down to it, this lust controls him.

Sometimes he's okay with that. Others, he wonders where he went wrong.

Still, the urge coils around him, strangles him and pulls his arms and legs until he snaps with the force of it. He's thrown under once more, in an endless sea of red and black. He thrashes and churns, watches from far away as his body kills and kills. Again, he loses himself. Again, he is gone. Again, he does it  _ again _ , because every part of him screams for it, so loud it can't be ignored, so powerful it overtakes him.

When he kills, it's like he's going through the motions, but it never becomes a chore. Every corpse flickering out of existence before him is one step closer to victory, to keeping the crown that rests on his head in its rightful place. The power that resides within him echoes, and he kills. 

He kills like it's part of him, like he doesn't know how to do much else. He does nothing to silence the voices that whisper in his head, even if part of him locked deep inside him knows this isn't right.

Because it isn't right. He shouldn't kill for sport. Only bad people kill for sport, and he isn't a bad person. Is he?

But it makes him feel strong. 

(Why?)

He loves the feeling of being feared.

(It's quite lonely. He's always been so alone.)

It's almost scary, the way his body takes over, muscle memory seizing him as he cuts through enemy after enemy. It's this, this feeling that constantly plagues him. Does he enjoy this, or does he despise it?

It depends. It depends, he thinks. It satisfies the whispers at the corners of his mind and satiates the ache deep in his bones. In so many ways, it just feels right.

Maybe that's why he never stops, he tells himself.

Anything but an admission that he truly enjoys this. Only bad people enjoy killing. He'll never be normal, but he's not a bad person.

(He's a bad person.)

The war rages on, background noise to the clanging of swords and the screams of others. He'd never fight his bloodlust. It makes him who he is, and that's okay. 

(No…)

He's not doing anything wrong. 

(But he is.)

He's powerful, and respected. No, not respected. But he's powerful nonetheless, and it's this fighting that makes him that way.

So he'll never give it up, not as long as he lives. He'll keep on fighting, and he'll keep on winning. It's all he has in this world, but there's nothing else he'd want more.

This is his destiny. This is who he is. 

He doesn't hate it. Or so he tells himself.

The tournament ends in the same heavy way it always does, his sword hanging loosely in his hand as blood drips from the point. He takes a deep breath, and the feeling returns to his body slowly, until the aching and burning of his injuries make themselves known. His eyes open gradually, heart pounding steadily in his chest.

The blood soaks his clothes. A lot more of it is his this time around. He'd fumbled far too many times. But it doesn't matter; in the end, the golden crown remains propped upon his head, all his yet again. For some reason, it doesn't feel as great as it normally does.

Without looking, he knows Phil stands behind him. He turns around anyway, eyes locking with Phil's, daring him to say something.

Phil's brows furrow, wings twitching as he gazes at Techno with something like… disappointment. Techno can't look away. He feels cold, so, so cold, but he doesn't understand. This is what he's always done. What right does Phil have to be disappointed? He won. Shouldn't he be proud?

The look on Phil's face morphs into one of pleading. His words are unspoken, but still heard.

_ You can't keep doing this. Please, stop. _

Techno scoffs, and pinches his brows together, eyes narrowed.

"Techno," Phil begs, eyes wide. "What am I going to do with you?"

He bumps into Phil as he walks past him. He doesn't bother apologizing. He's not even sorry in the first place.

Dinner is less of an event than he'd thought it would be. He shows up still blood-covered, too exhausted and hungry to clean himself. Tiredly, he cuts into his chicken, holding it still with his fork. The silver knife is cold in his hands. His grip tightens until his knuckles are white, and he places it down slowly.

The weight of his actions has finally settled in heavily upon his shoulders. The voices are quiet, but screams still echo loudly in his head. He quickly drops the knife, almost like it's scalded him, and twists his wrist, flexing his hand. He can't hold that right now, not when the blood still plagues the corners of his vision. He sees it everywhere: on his hands, on his utensils, on the others. He quivers like a leaf in the autumn wind, and he hopes no one noticed.

Everyone's eyes rest on him. No one is eating. Only the clang of his own utensils sounds throughout the dining hall. Their gazes burn, and he wonders what they're thinking.

Phil and Wilbur keep glancing back and forth at one another worriedly, like they care. They don't, Techno thinks. How could they? They practically just met him, and he's not exactly the most likeable kid. 

_ Kid. _

George, Sapnap, and Niki all stare at him with something like pity. He's stuck between accepting it and getting angry at it. 

He can tell Dream has been staring at him wide-eyed, barely even blinking. Something about the boy's demeanor and body language makes it obvious he's in awe. The smiley mask doesn't hide it at all. Maybe it's the way his fingers dance, or his foot taps, like he's filled to the brim with questions and praises. His eyes haven't left Techno, not even once, Techno just  _ knows. _ He wears the faintest of smiles, just the tiniest curl of his lips, visible just below his mask. 

It makes Techno feel disgusting. He doesn't deserve that kind of admiration. He kills people. Dream isn't the type of person who kills people, Techno thinks. It hits him that the twisting of his stomach is jealousy. 

He wishes he had the choice.

He thinks this, but if you asked him a couple hours earlier, he'd tell you the opposite. He'd tell you he loves this, relishes in the blood beneath his blade. The sad part is, he doesn't know which thought is true anymore.

Regardless, he eats his dinner in silence. He just pretends no one else is there, even if it doesn't work. The attention is blistering,  _ suffocating _ . There's no way Techno  _ couldn't _ notice it. Yet, no one speaks.

He feels like an animal at a zoo. It reminds him of old times. He squirms.

He tries not to rush his eating out of fear of looking too awkward, even though he is, and painfully so. 

It's Phil that bothers him the most. His disappointment hurts so much that it's confusing. Techno has to wonder when he started caring so much about what Phil thinks.

With one last stab of his chicken, he finishes his dinner. He glances at Phil, who watches intently as he climbs to his feet. When he turns around and starts walking out of the room, he doesn't look back. In his wake he leaves a blood stained seat and distant, hushed whispers.

His room brings welcome solitude, the exhaustion of fighting sinking deep into his bones by the time he's made it upstairs and through his door. 

He wonders if this room can really be called his. There's not a sign of him anywhere, not until he drops his cape on the floor.

He grips his crown, slowly lifting it from his head. It glitters golden in the dying sunlight, the jewels winking at him. His fingers tighten, and he furrows his brows, tossing it on the bed. Already he longs for the weight of it settled on his head.

When he sets foot in the shower, he makes a point to not look at the watered down blood washing down the drain. The water stings the slashes and cuts along his body. The pain is the only thing keeping him grounded.

Even then, he still drifts. Water runs in streams down his marked back, and he touches the lines along his arm. He aches deep in his gut, for what, he wishes he knew. His hand grips his wrist and squeezes, pulling him back to reality.

His head tilts to the ceiling.

_ What am I doing?  _ He asks himself gently, arms wrapping around his body. His stomach twists, tying itself into knots.  _ Why can't things just be easy? _

He wishes for so much. He wishes he never came to this stupid castle, or this stupid city. He wishes he never met Wilbur, Dream, or Schlatt. He wishes he never met  _ Phil _ . He wishes he wasn't a hybrid, he wishes he didn't have soulmates.

Sometimes, he just really wishes it would all stop.

It never does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i can muster the strength to respond to you all this time. i appreciate you all as always <3
> 
> it was so cool seeing all the tags you guys scroll! i have a very important question. what is your favorite minecraft flower?

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are SO pog. also perhaps check out my other works? :]


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